


Room

by Todesengel



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-06
Updated: 2002-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One room, five moments</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duty

Keith watches.

He watches because he is good at it. He is good at peering up through his long, long lashes, or out of the corner of an eye, or over the rim of a book or cup. Unobtrusive. Unnoticed. He watches, because that is part of what he does, part of his duty as captain. His is the job of looking at a situation, and digesting the information, and then planning a course of action.

He watches, because that is part of who he is. He is good at sitting still, and good at observing the world around him without actually participating. Oh, sure, he’s always the one who ends up making flowery speeches, and he is the one who directs the actions of his team, but, ultimately, he isn't the one to affect the world. And he is fine with that, because he doesn't think he would be good at changing anything when he can't even change himself.

He watches because it means that he won't have to interact with the others, not when they are obviously having Their fun, which is separate from Our fun. Besides, Lord knows he interacts enough with them. He is their captain, which means that he is their mother, father, brother, boss, friend, drill sergeant, confidant, punching bag, and yes, sometimes lover all rolled into one. He knows when to be these things, how to be these things, knows how to sacrifice himself for them and keep himself from them. He knows that, in return, they will obey him and respect him, be loyal to him, and fight and kill for him. Him. Not for the Alliance, not for Arus or Allura, not for some ideal or for the innocents who died or out of revenge. For _him. Because_ of him. And, he knows, that sometimes they will die for him. Because of him. Which leads to the other reason he keeps himself distant because everybody knows that they aren't supposed to fall in love with him and he isn't supposed to, isn't _allowed_ to fall in love with them.

He watches, because it’s the only thing he can do, because he has broken that unspoken, unwritten, unbending law and fallen in love. And how could he help himself, when Pidge was so young, so needy, so alive? How could he help himself when he looked down on Pidge's peaceful face, the lines of war smoothed out by sleep, wonderfully soft, curly hair damp and dark with sweat? How could he help himself when he kissed Pidge's soft lips, touched his soft flesh, gave him the same comfort of his body that he gave to Lance and Hunk and Sven when they asked? How could he help himself when Pidge left his bed the next morning, at peace with some internal demon, and stronger, but no longer in need of Keith's comfort? But he won't do anything, doesn't think anybody even knew about his transgression.

He watches, because then he gets to watch Pidge; gets to watch him sit bent over some project with Lance; gets to watch him smile, watch him laugh, watch him vibrate with young, restless life.

He watches, and he remembers the taste of that smile.


	2. Logic

Pidge laughs.

He uses the motion to look over at Keith, and the laugh almost dies because Keith looks the same as always, his black hair peeking over the top of a book. But Pidge forces the laugh to its natural conclusion and looks back at Lance. He won’t be sad.

He had known what he was getting into back when he had looked at Keith one day and realized that he could, quite possibly, be in love with his handsome captain. But he knew the rules as well as the others, had known just how stupid such an action would be. So he had planned and plotted, written out an equation in his head. If a, then b. If b, then c. If this, then that. If Keith responded, then a life of happy nights and unholy pleasure. If they fucked, and nothing more, then he would forget and never, ever, ever speak of his longing. He had planned and planned and waited and waited until the right moment.

The right moment.

Except there wasn’t a right moment, or even a wrong moment. So there was, instead, one gloriously painful night where Pidge tried everything in his power to make Keith understand what he felt without actually saying anything. And in the morning, Pidge walked away, because Keith said nothing, and Pidge had planned for that outcome.

Logic dictated that this is what he would do. He trusts logic, because logic has helped him before. Logic helped him when Sven almost died, but logic is worthless now.

He thought he had everything planned. He thought he knew all the outcomes, knew all the variables. He thought he would be able to walk away. He hadn’t thought about his heart and the ache that came when Keith said nothing.

Logic tells him that Keith’s silence shouldn’t hurt. He trusts logic. Logic tells him that the pain will pass, even though, right now, it feels like his heart is being ripped out through his nose. He trusts logic. Logic tells him there will be other boys, other girls, other bodies, other times to fall in love. Logic tells him that he had known that this would happen, that he shouldn’t hurt because he had prepared himself for this. Logic tells him that going back to Keith tonight would be a mistake, that to do so would lead only to more pain; pain compounded upon pain.

He trusts logic because he lives by logic. Logic will see him through this, logic is the only way to get through this. He will follow the dictates of logic, spend tonight and tomorrow night, and every night until his heart is hard again, in his bed, alone, lonely, aching for the touch of his captain. Logic says this is what he must do, and Pidge will do as logic says.

Pidge laughs, but he laughs at himself.


	3. Thought

Lance sighs.

He keeps the sigh inside, in his chest where he’s pretty sure that Pidge can’t feel it. He hopes Pidge can’t feel it.

He thinks Pidge and Keith are being very stupid. He thinks they should just admit that they like each other and lose the sly, shy, burning glances, and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like to think. It’s not his _job_ to think. He feels. He feels pain and joy and hope and love and death and all the emotions Keith has lost and Pidge is losing. He has been the feeler all his life. His parents, his sisters, his friends, his teachers, bosses, teammates: they think. Lance feels.

Right now all he can feel is tension it’s killing him.

The sparking fire that lies between Pidge and Keith isn’t anything new to him. His three sisters had him well indoctrinated into the subterfuge of love and lust long before he joined the Space Explorers. He knows quite intimately the crackle of the long-lashed gaze, the depth of a soft sigh, the art of pressing against an arm or chest or leg in passing, of brushing hands and lips and fingers against the warm iron of another’s body. But his normal role in this subterfuge is useless now. He can’t find the object of his team mate’s sighs and glances, scope them out and deem the worthy or, as is more often the case, scare them off of his hormone driven sisters. He thinks that this isn’t the way it should be.

He wishes that there was something he could do, but in all of his life he was never the one to bring the sighing pair together. He is useless, and he doesn’t like that, doesn’t like that at all.

Lance can feel the Pidge trembling through their tenuous connection of flesh. He pushes against the younger man, slightly, to let Pidge know that he isn’t alone. Pidge pushes back, and the trembling stops. The boy is like steel now. He holds himself rigid, and Lance knows that he fucked up somehow.

He shouldn’t be doing this because he thinks Pidge is foolish for shutting himself off, but Keith is even worse for not taking the beautiful gift before it’s taken away. But Lance knows that someday, some very distant day, he will be the one in Keith’s position, with Keith’s responsibility, with Keith’s nightmares. Then he will have to be the one who thinks and let all of his feelings die. He hopes that day never comes.

Lance sighs, looks over at Sven and Hunk and wonders when they became the exception and not the rule.


	4. Worry

Hunk frowns.

Something is up, something is wrong. He can tell, because it’s his job to know the big picture. He has to know what’s going on so Keith can bog himself down in the details and save their lives.

He looks at Lance and Pidge on the couch, pressed shoulder to shoulder. He looks at Keith, curled up in the big easy chair, just a mop of messy hair over the lip of a book. He looks at the worried, exasperated, frustrated glances that Lance shoots Pidge and Keith. He looks at Pidge’s back--a little too rigid to be normal--and the way Keith doesn’t turn the page as quickly as he normally does.

He thinks he understands and that makes him frown even more.

There’s a large mess waiting for him, a mess that’s compounded by Lance’s meddling and Pidge’s pride and Keith’s uncompromising devotion to duty. There is a mess that will take weeks, possibly months to sort out, a mess that must be approached obliquely. He can already feel the strain of this new element on the team. The tight rods that bound them all together were whining under the stress of Keith and Pidge, the careful calibrations all out of whack.

Endless nights stretch before him, nights where he’ll work his subtle magic, use his position as the friend-to-all to his advantage, maneuver the others into the positions that he wants. They are pawns before him, elements to be played with to achieve the perfection needed for their most desperate war.

Sven makes a noise beside him, and Hunk pulls his attention back into the now.

And here is his other work. Like the corroded pistons in some of the older ships stored in the vehicle bay, he needs to coax Sven back to life. He _needs_ Sven, needs him to be healthy and part of the grand machine once more, so the purr of their combined energy is the healthy, happy, melodious purr that it once was. But it’s thankless, painful, slow work and it worries him that he has become so cyncial about Sven’s near-death.

He remembers when he loved Sven.

He lost something when Sven almost died, however, and now he doesn’t think he can love. Maybe if he didn’t have to take care of everyone; maybe if he didn’t have to keep the pistons churning in sync, the cogs well oiled, the machine working in perfect harmony. Maybe if he could be selfish and take some time for himself he would learn how to love again.

But Hunk is a slave to the machine.

Hunk frowns, and wishes for a simplier life.


	5. Pain

Sven hurts.

The screwdriver falls from his numb fingers and he would like to pick it up but he can't. He can't really feel anything, right now, can't feel his fingers or his toes, can't feel his heart or the breath that inflates his chest. He knows everything is there, if he could look down, he knows his body would be staring right back at him, but he can't feel a thing.

He knows it's just going to get worse from here.

And he's right.

Pain lances through his body, dancing up and down his muscles like the lightening had danced over the broken surface of Doom. It fills his bones, and clenches his teeth tight onto his tongue so that his blood fills his mouth and chokes him.

The wave of pain recedes, and Sven blinks past the tears that burn his eyes. He bends down, picks up the screwdriver and turns back to this broken, shattered toy that Hunk has given him to fix. He knows the rational behind this, knows that this is a way of making him feel like he's going to become whole again. As if fixing one, small, insignificant toy will make him whole.

It's one of his toys, too, a little mechanical puppet he'd made for the village children a life time away.

He can't see the tiny screws anymore.

He can't see anything anymore.

He hurts and he wants to know why nobody notices.  



End file.
